Staring At Your Face
by HollyBrianne
Summary: Draco's second Christmas at the Burrow goes much better than his first. / Dramione Christmas fluff -ish, one-shot


**A/N: **Written for Strictly Dramione's Christmas Fest on AO3.

Extra beta love to PotionChemist for not only doing two rounds of last minute edits, but also promising (and I quote) to still love me even if I use Justin Bieber. Now that's friendship! :)  
Credit and big thanks to LadyKenz347 for the lovely aesthetic!

* * *

_It's the most beautiful time of the year_  
_Lights fill the streets, spreadin' so much cheer_  
_I should be playin' in the winter snow, but I'ma be under the mistletoe_  
_I don't wanna miss out on the holiday, but I can't stop starin' at your face_  
_I should be playin' in the winter snow, but I'ma be under the mistletoe_

_With you..._

_"Mistletoe" Justin Bieber_

* * *

"Hermione, have you done something?"

Hermione looks up from her knitting to find Harry dismounting his broom next to her. Behind him, two teams of redheads and one blue-haired little boy zoom through the air on their own broomsticks, gleefully dodging snowballs which have been enchanted to mimic bludgers.

"You're going to have to be more specific, Harry," she replies with a mischievous grin. "I do plenty of things." Right on cue, a set of three snowballs land one after another on top of Harry's head. Harry rewards her with a good-natured groan and shakes like a dog, spraying her with the slush.

When he's dry, Harry casts a curious eye over her shoulder toward the house. "I mean to Malfoy. Have you done something to piss him off?"

Hermione scoffs. "Something other than being born?"

She turns her head to follow Harry's gaze. Draco Malfoy is visible through the slightly fogged window making a vaguely sour face, most definitely in Hermione's direction. She knows he must see her, but he doesn't so much as blink. Hermione returns to her knitting.

"Maybe a bit more recent than that?" Harry says while adjusting his glasses, as if that will clarify the scene before him.

"No, I've been on my best behaviour." It's an honest answer, if a little misleading. Her best behaviour towards Malfoy isn't exactly a good ruler to measure decent manners. But it _ is _ Christmas Eve and, although she is determined to keep her distance, she had welcomed him to the Burrow with the perfunctory "Happy Christmas" when he'd arrived.

"Are you sure you haven't—" Harry starts, hesitantly. "After last year..."

Hermione stabs at her yarn with more force than necessary and her skein tumbles to the ground, becoming soggy in the wet snow. "I said I haven't done anything, alright? And last year was not my fault."

She does _ not _ want to talk about last year. Doesn't even want to think about it. It's embarrassing and confusing and frustrating, but now that Harry has brought it up, it's all she can think about. Last year, she had just started to see her former enemy differently. Malfoy is a man now, and a handsome one; trying to deny that would be laughable. But beyond that, she had begun to see an even more attractive change to him— compassion and remorse. And then, once she removed the veil of hatred, she was able to acknowledge what had always been there— intelligence and drive.

Her acknowledgement was short lived, though. Last year had been a fantasy, and last Christmas had been the reality check. Malfoy may have changed, but in his mind, she would always be the same old 'Granger'.

"Sure, sure," Harry nods. His attention moves to her yarn, which she realizes she has knotted nearly beyond repair.

Hermione stills her hands and wipes her face blank so Harry can't read her anxieties any further. After a minute of uncertainty, Harry gives up, rejoining the game of snow Quidditch in the garden. In an attempt to be sneaky, Hermione checks her peripheral vision. Malfoy is still staring. She sighs. Casting a drying spell on her yarn, she packs up her supplies and trudges inside. Maybe she should just have it out with him and get it over with. That would either resolve the tension... or make it worse. She decides she's willing to take the risk.

Malfoy is alone in the living room and he turns toward her when she enters. He doesn't say anything at first and she clears her throat awkwardly.

"Your, uh, mother seems like she's become pretty comfortable at these gatherings now." Back outside the window, Narcissa is a more subdued version of her sister Andromeda, but still warmly cheering for her great-nephew Teddy as he flies by. It was only two years ago that the blonde woman had joined them for the first time. She had sat primly on the Weasley's lumpy old couch, looking polite but very out of place in her satin and cashmere. Last year, she had brought a crème brûlée and her son for his first Burrow Christmas. He hasn't taken to it as quickly as she has.

Malfoy dips his head in agreement, but remains silent, only continuing to stare with a subtly pained expression into her eyes, at her hair... at her lips. She purses them and her hand finds her hip reflexively.

"Listen," she starts in her authoritative tone. "Everyone can see your dagger looks at me from the pitch. If you have something you'd like to say to me, I think we should just get on with it. And if you're open to suggestions, I think that something should be 'sorry'. For last year."

He snorts. "'Sorry'? Granger, I've made amends for my wrongs. And as plentiful as they were, last Christmas was not one of them. _ You _ broke _ my _heirloom pocket watch."

She remembers stumbling and then the sharp crunch of glass underfoot. "Only because you shoved me so hard I lost my footing!"

"And I only did that because _ your boyfriend _is too dim to know the width of his own shoulders." He stops watching her long enough to seek out the youngest Weasley son through the window. Hermione feels her cheeks heat.

"Ron isn't... he was never my boyfriend," she denies. She knows it isn't the most important aspect of their row, but she can't seem to let it go uncorrected. "Besides, he only did _ that _ because... well, you know."

"I don't," Malfoy says simply. He's back to staring at her and suddenly it's very difficult for her to get words out. She makes a general gesture above her head.

"The whole mistletoe... thing," she mumbles lamely.

"This mistletoe?" He points up as well and finally she notices that they have indeed found themselves under the meddlesome plant yet again. "History loves to repeat itself," he muses, "I wonder if you will repeat yourself, too. What did you threaten me with last year? Hexing my bollocks off?"

Hermione cringes. Had she truly been so crass? "Who can recall what was said a whole year ago?"

"I can. You told me I had never used them anyway, so I wouldn't be missing anything," he says in a dramatic whine, clearing meant to be imitating her.

"Do I really sound like that?" Her confidence has begun to crack and she's certain he can hear it. She doesn't meet his eye.

Malfoy takes a moment to think. "Not always," he answers, and this time his voice is softer.

"To be fair, you had just rejected me." There it is again, her vulnerability. She doesn't have time to regret it because he shoots back instantaneously with wide-eyed confusion.

"I did what?"

"We had just noticed the mistletoe. George catcalled us in front of everyone. Then at the thought of kissing me, you said 'not for a million Galleons'."

He arches one eyebrow at her. "But who can recall what was said a whole year ago?" he repeats.

She can't think of a smart response, so she shrugs dismissively.

"It _ is _ what I said," he continues, "but in case you'd like to know what I meant... it was because I knew _ you _ wouldn't have done it. Not for a million Galleons. And certainly not for a silly holiday tradition."

Hermione considers herself an intelligent person, but she hesitates, wondering if she's reading too much into his words. They sound sweet, but is that her own wishful thinking? She decides to ignore it. She can't have the wrong reaction if she doesn't react at all.

"Anyway," she says, clearing her throat again, "sorry. About your pocket watch."

"I was able to have it mended," he offers. "And I'm sorry, too. About everything else."

Now they are both out of things to say. It's a delicate thing, mending fences. Everything she can think to say feels like too much or not enough. She wonders if he feels the same way. But they are still alone together, and still very much under the mistletoe, and Hermione can't seem to break away from the moment to leave. Instead, she fusses with some yarn that's sticking out of her satchel.

"What's that?" Malfoy asks.

"Oh, um, a scarf." She holds a bit of the end out so he can see the red and green striped pattern. "It isn't wrapped since I've only just finished. Do try to act surprised when you open it, will you?"

He does a doubletake between her face and the scarf. "You made that for me?"

"You were the only one without a gift to open last year," she says.

"I didn't expect anything." He waits a beat, then adds, "It's nice of you. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"I like the green." His expression morphs into a playful smile. "Gryffindor red, though?"

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Not Gryffindor red, Christmas red," she corrects. "Christmas is a time when red and green should get along." Now she's watching him back, and it's clear her metaphor isn't lost on him.

"Not the only time, I hope." His mood is back to serious and his gaze dips again to her mouth. A strange bubbly feeling erupts in her gut. She notices the strong line of his jaw, the tentative earnestness in his eyes. Slowly, he bends down so his face is at her level, but stays far enough away to allow her an out if she wants it. "For the silly holiday tradition?" he suggests.

"If we must," she says, but she punctuates her response with an exaggerated sigh. His gentle laugh in return tells her that he understands her true meaning, so she leans the rest of the way to meet him. The kiss is a jumble of opposites: both tender and firm, delightfully slow and agonizingly brief. When she finally drags herself back, she sees a cute blush across his cheeks and thinks that she can get used to seeing this side of him.

Malfoy manages to feign a decent act of surprise when he opens his gift. His mother drapes the scarf around his shoulders and pronounces it 'lovely'. He gives Hermione a polite thank you in front of the group. But when they are alone again, late that night, Hermione uses the scarf to pull his face down to hers and he thanks her again, wordlessly.


End file.
